Wednesday, September 02, 2009

Last Saturday I found myself in a very bad way. I've been having some repair work done on my house to fix sketchy construction by the original builder. The problem is, my beautiful home leaked like an old fishing boat. A company repaired this issue 3 years ago, but this past winter, water found it's way back in. Nothing like spending thousands of dollars on something that didn't work. This time around I was going to get the best guy in the city. Turns out the water proofer was a rock star (the place is as tight as a drum) but the construction company hired to put the place back together again was pathetic. Shoddy work, lame sub contractors, overcharging me at every turn, and turning a 3 month job into 8. This project has been the bane of my existence... again!

Last Saturday the frustration cup runneth over. After endless delays and screw-ups I exploded all over the owner of this construction company. I haven't been that angry or yelled that loud in 20 years. In that moment I understood crimes of passion. Luckily my outburst was over the phone, because if this guy had been standing in front of me, I surely would have driven my fist through his brain. Even as I write this I feel my cortisol levels rise. Anger IS one letter short of danger. When I hung up (slammed down) the phone after my verbal combustion, I was shaking. The other thing I couldn't shake was this toxic feeling I had coursing throughout my entire body. In that moment I completely understood how anger can make you sick.

This hate outburst occurred at approximately 3:15 last Saturday afternoon and I was planning to go to my yoga class at 4:00 PM. If my friends Brain and Shawna hadn't joining me I would have certainly blown it off. Yoga was the very last thing I wanted to do after that confrontation. Hitting a heavy bag for an hour seemed like the only logical release for what I was suffering from. The verbal shrapnel was still flying on our way to yoga and prior to class the heat coming off of me was so intense that the girl next to me got up and moved to the back of the room. I'm not kidding. I was about to turn a simple sweet Hatha Yoga class into Kill And Destroy Yoga.

For the first 45 minutes of class every pose, every asana was executed like a Vulcan Robot. Perfect emotionless linear intensity. I didn't even break a sweat for the first 45 minutes. Between minute 45 and 50 everything changed. The anger was gone and the sweat started pouring out of me in buckets. The first thing I did after class was call the guy (I screamed at) and apologize. Even with the wrong intentions the physical movements of yoga helped me find balance again. I was transformed. A miraculous thing really. It's possible that any physical movement could have helped me, but it was Vulcan Robot Yoga that made everything right again.